


Ice Cream and Hard Lines Part One

by snarkymuch



Series: Broken!Verse [5]
Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 19:21:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12514648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkymuch/pseuds/snarkymuch





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

Dean heard the knock at the door and looked up. He shut off the TV and pushed himself up from the couch. He wasn't expecting visitors, so he grabbed his gun. He peered out the window and caught sight of a head of mousy brown hair. His brow furrowed, and he pulled back the curtain more. It was Garth. He was wearing his trademark leather jacket, complete with tassels. There was something comforting in the familiarity, and it put Dean at ease.

Dean opened the door and greeted Garth with a smile. Garth peeked around the brown paper bag in his hands and smiled back.

"Hey, Dean." Garth stepped by him, his cowboy boots clicking on the floor as he walked. "I brought Sam some goodies."

"Tell me you didn't bring cake again?"

"Nope, better. Ice cream."

Dean shook his head and gestured Garth toward the kitchen.

"You look comfy," Garth said as he made his way to the kitchen.

Dean looked down at himself then back up at Garth. He was wearing a pair of black sweats and his old, tatty Metallica shirt. "Hey, I look awesome."

Garth smiled broadly. "So where is Sammy?"

"He's in his room. He'll be surprised to see you. Hell, I'm surprised to see you. What are you doing up in these parts?"

Garth took off his coat and cast it aside on a chair.

"Well our last call had me worried. You said he wasn't eating and that he was acting more depressed than usual, so I thought a visit was due. Besides, he always eats for me," Garth said with a grin.

"That's because you feed him junk."

Garth put the ice cream in the freezer and tossed the bag in the trash.

Dean walked down the short hall to Sam's room. He knocked gently on the door. "Sam, you have a visitor."

There was no answer, so sighing, Dean pushed open the door and peered in. Sam was sitting at his desk, coloring. His hair was hanging down around his face like a curtain.

Drawing had become a pastime for Sam, a way to get out things he couldn't otherwise say. It was what the pictures were of that broke Dean's heart. They were never happy. They were dark and twisted lines. Angry marks and sharp edges. There was nothing comforting about them. In fact, they scared Dean a little. He didn't like to imagine what it was like in Sam's head.

Dean walked over to the bed and sat down, watching Sam for a reaction.

"Garth is here."

Sam shrugged a shoulder and hunched back down over his drawing. He tugged the edge of his hoodie tighter around himself.

"He brought ice cream."

Sam lifted his head a little but otherwise didn't respond.

"Okay, I get it. I'll leave you alone, but do you mind if Garth comes in?"

Sam paused his drawing and shrugged a shoulder.

Dean smiled. "I will go let him know."

It had been days since Dean had gotten a good meal into Sam, and he was beginning to worry. He didn't want to be back at the hospital again with feeding tubes. He hated seeing his baby brother look so vulnerable. But if Sam didn't start eating soon, they were going to be back there again. He hoped Garth would be able get through to Sam. A few calories were better than none.

Dean stepped back out of the room and made his way over to Garth. "He's not in a great mood, but I think he's up for seeing you."

"Cool," Garth said. "Let me grab a bowl of ice cream then."

Dean watched Garth as he scooped ice cream into a bowl. "I don't think you're going to need that much."

Garth looked over his shoulder at him. "When was the last time he ate?"

Dean frowned and shook his head. "A real meal? Days at least."

"Balls," Garth said, closing the ice cream and sticking the container back into the freezer. "You know if he doesn't start eating soon…"

"I know," Dean said, raking a hand through his hair. "But we're not there yet. He hates hospitals and I don't want to put him through that unless it's absolutely necessary."

Garth nodded and grabbed the bowl of ice cream. He patted Dean on the shoulder as he walked by. "I'll holler if I need anything."

Garth knocked lightly on the doorframe. "Hey, Sam."

Sam was sitting at his desk, papers strewn about around him. Crayons scattered on the floor. It looked like he had swept the table clean onto the floor in a fit of rage.

Garth swallowed and then stepped into the room. He looked down at the abandoned drawings littering the floor. They were primitive but in some he could make out themes, like fire and darkness. There was one that looked like a shadow of a man surrounded by flames. Everything about them was dark and painful, and they sent shiver down Garth's spine.

He stepped around them and made his way over to Sam. Sam was still clutching a black crayon in his hand. Garth crouched down and set the ice cream in Sam's line of sight.

"Hey, buddy. I missed you."

Sam turned his head away and curled in on himself, letting the crayon fall to the table.

Garth smiled wanly and gently placed a hand on Sam's back, rubbing little circles. "I've brought ice cream."

Sam lifted his head and looked at Garth. Garth could see the dark circles beneath his eyes. Dean hadn't said anything about him not sleeping, but it was clear he hadn't been.

"Ice cream?" Sam said quietly.

Garth smiled. "Yeah, your favorite kind, too."

Sam reached for the bowl and took the spoon. He held it like he did the crayon, in his fist.

He tried to scoop a spoonful but the task was too much and he ended up spilling some on the table.

Sam dropped the spoon and looked down. "Sorry."

"Hey, nothing to be sorry about, buddy. Let me help you."

Garth took the spoon and scooped a small bit onto it. He lifted it to Sam's mouth and smiled as Sam opened.

Sam closed his mouth around the spoon as Garth pulled it back. One bite down, Garth thought triumphantly.

Garth offered him another bite and he took it willingly. They repeated the process in silence until the ice cream was gone.

"You did good, Sammy," Garth cheered.

Sam smiled and licked his lips. "Good."

"Do you want more?"

Sam shook his head.

Garth stood and stretched. Being crouched so long had kinked his back. He looked down at one of the crinkled drawings on the floor. It was red and filled with angry black lines.

"Do you want to tell me about your pictures?" Garth asked, bending down to pick one up. Maybe if Sam could talk about them, it would ease some of the pain built up inside of him.

Sam shook his head and wrapped his arms around himself.

"Okay, we don't have to talk about them. Do you want your crayons back?"

Sam looked around sadly at the mess he had made. "Sorry."

"You really need to stop saying that, Sam," Garth chuckled. "There's nothing to be sorry for. I get frustrated too sometimes."

Garth quickly gathered the strewn papers and crayons, placing them back on the desk in front of Sam. Sam grabbed them and began sorting them out by color.

"Okay, Sam, I'm going to go to the living room, all right? You can come if you want."

Sam shook his head and Garth sighed, smiling sadly. "Okay, buddy. I'll see you in a bit."

Dean paced the living room while he waited for Garth to appear. After what felt like an eternity, Garth appeared, empty bowl in his hand.

"You got him to eat?"

"Yeah, but he's in a real bad place, Dean."

"I know," Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. "I know."

"Those pictures are pretty dark."

"Yeah, he usually draws like that after he's had a lot of nightmares, which he's had a lot of lately."

"I can tell he hasn't been sleeping. He looks worn out, Dean. I'm worried about him."

"You're not the only one."

Dean walked over to the window and watched the snow begin to fall. He rested his forehead against the cool glass of the window and sighed.


	2. Ice Cream and Hard Lines Part Two

Dean watched Garth pull away. He had intended on staying a few days, but he got a call. There was a case in Montana that Mackey needed a hand with, something about a nest of vampires. He was reluctant to go, but Dean insisted. They would be fine on their own. Garth agreed, but only with a promise from Dean that he would talk to Sam about his drawings, try to get him to open up.

Once the car was out of sight, Dean turned back to Sam. He was sitting on the couch in his sweats with his feet up and a blanket tucked around him. His face was drawn and the circles under his eyes seemed to have grown impossibly worse.

Dean sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He needed to get Sammy to sleep, and to do that, he needed to get him to talk. There was only so much the sedatives could do for him. They helped him fall asleep, but they didn't help him stay asleep.

Dean thought back to the way he had found Sam that morning, curled in on himself in the corner of the bedroom, sweat pouring down his forehead. It had taken both him and Garth to calm Sammy. The only thing he would say was 'bad man.'

Knowing Sam was settled for the moment, Dean walked down to Sam's bedroom. It was clean and the bed was made. Garth had taken the time to tidy it up before he left. He said it was the least he could do to help.

Dean made his way over to Sam's desk and grabbed the stack of drawings that rested on the corner.

The picture on the top was of nothing but dark lines against a red background. He flipped through them. Each was just as twisted as the last. It made Dean's heart contract painfully to know such dark things were haunting his brother.

Sighing, he took the drawings and walked back to the living. Sammy looked up when he entered and smiled.

Dean smiled back tightly, drawings held firmly in his hand. Talking to Sam about his nightmares wasn't going to be easy, but maybe, just maybe, it would help him sort it all out in his head.

"Can we talk for a minute, Sammy?"

Sam gaze fell to the drawings, and his brow furrowed.

Dean held them up. "You're not in trouble. I just want to talk to you about the bad man."

Sam shook his head, wrapping his arms tightly around himself.

"Sammy, the bad man, he can't hurt you anymore. He's gone now."

Sam shook his head.

"No, Sammy. You need to listen to me. He's gone. What you see at night, it's not real."

Sam's face changed into a look of confusion. Dean raked a hand over his face. This was going to be harder than he thought.

Dean went over to Sam's side and sat down on the arm of the couch. He ran his hand through Sam's hair. "He's not real, buddy. He can't hurt you. You have to sleep sometime."

Sam shook his head.

"Please, Sam. I'm giving you all I got here. You have to help me out. You're not eating. You're barely sleeping … Sammy, please."

Sam reached over and took the drawing on the top: the one of the man in flames.

He pointed to the man.

"Who is that Sam, is that you?"

Sam nodded. "Hurts."

Dean's heart contracted painfully, and he swallowed back the lump forming in his throat. He couldn't imagine what it was like to remember the tortures of hell without having a name to put to it. Dean wanted to explain, but he didn't think Sam could understand.

"Do you remember anything else about your nightmares?"

"The bad man. He hurts me."

Lucifer or Michael, Dean wasn't sure who. He supposed it didn't matter.

"Is he real?" Sam asked.

"He was, Sam, but he's gone now."

"He hurt me?"

Dean ran his fingers through Sam's hair soothingly. "Yeah, he did."

Sam nodded slightly and turned into Dean's side. Dean wrapped an arm around him and held him tight. Sam's shoulders began to shake and Dean leaned down to press his lips against the crown of Sam's head.

"It's okay, Sammy. He can't hurt you anymore."

 


End file.
